


Through The Dark

by TravelingSong



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:05:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7390189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TravelingSong/pseuds/TravelingSong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She's too weak to talk, can do nothing but bury her face in his neck as he carries her away, tries to move closer and closer and wishes she had the strength to hug him to her, Red, she sighs, and he keeps on walking without looking down because he couldn't bear it. He needs to take her away from all this, and then there'll be time. Then there'll be time for recovery and comfort and healing. For a future."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hold On

**Author's Note:**

> My fic for the hiatus. Hope you like it!

She should have known it couldn't have been this easy.

Everything had gone according to protocol in the beginning, a mission like most, a harmless routine. Until it had stopped.

It had been a trap, a set-up. She hadn't seen it coming and he had been too late. They had captured her, taken her away to a location she couldn't identify. Leverage against him. The cruelest way to cause him harm.

And now she doesn't know what will happen to her.

It's the uncertainty that aches, the solitude. She believes he will find her, it's the only thought she can trust. He will rescue her from these bleak surroundings, this cruel ordeal, save her like he always has, in all the years she's known him.

It's how she perseveres, with the image of him inside her head. She thinks about him over and over and _over_ again.

She thinks about the time he visited her late at night. No advance notice, no explanation. Just him standing in her doorway, nervous, fidgeting, _I don't mean to disturb you_ and _you're not_ , yet something was clearly wrong and she was too scared to ask, not sure how to handle him like this, and she didn't have much to offer, either, just her company and maybe that was enough for him, maybe that was the reason he had stopped by in the first place, maybe it was that simple. Seated next to him on the couch, she had taken his hand then, gently but with intent, her gaze never wavering, asking him to trust her. _You have me._

She thinks about the time she kissed him for solace. An impulsive gesture after an exhausting covert operation, a mission that claimed its victims but let him live, _it's really just a scratch_ and _never do that again_ , she isn't one for cliches but _god_ , to endanger himself the way he does to protect her, to shield her from yet another bullet, she's told him so many times to stop but he just doesn't listen. He _never_ listens. And then, out of nowhere, she had pressed her lips against his, leaving him breathless and speechless and _please, Red, never do that again_.

She thinks about the time he returned to her after months of separation. His figure appearing in a ballroom, a charity gala she was attending for surveillance, every determined step leading him towards her, he's always liked a dramatic entrance, _would you like to dance_ and _welcome back_ , his hand on her back guiding her and the fabric of his tuxedo soft against her skin, she's smiling against his shoulder as he moves closer to her ear. _I missed you, Lizzie._

She misses him, too. Can hardly stand it.

It's something to hold on to now, these memories, the knowledge that he must be looking for her. Just a matter of time. A way out of the darkness.

She's still breathing, and that counts for something. She won't go without a fight.

She wants to see him one more time.

She has survived so much.

She will survive this, too.

* * *

Someone is saying her name. The sound is distorted, muted, she hasn't fully gained consciousness yet, she just wants to sleep, but the voice is insistent, it's pleading with her, _open your eyes_ , she's so tired, _open your eyes, Lizzie, please_. She's dreaming again, she knows it, she's had this dream many times in the past few nights and it's painful, the illusion vanishing the moment she forces herself back to reality. She wants it to stop, wants to stop her mind from tricking her into hoping, it's just a voice, it's just a-

Just a hand on her cheek.

Then something warm covering her.

Then a silhouette coming into focus.

He looks exhausted. That's her first thought. She wants to reach out to him, ask him if he's okay, if he gets enough sleep, wants to apologize for making him worry.

It requires effort, even believing that what she's witnessing is real. She feels her body being lifted from the cold, hard ground, his jacket still around her, and she still hasn't fully registered that this is it, this is her escape, her rescue, this is her way home, this is her way back to _him_.

She's too weak to talk, can do nothing but bury her face in his neck as he carries her away, tries to move closer and closer and wishes she had the strength to hug him to her, _Red_ , she sighs, and he keeps on walking without looking down because he couldn't bear it. He needs to take her away from all this, and then there'll be time. Then there'll be time for recovery and comfort and healing. For a future.

It's been torture, the seemingly endless days of searching for her, his quest for vengeance wreaking havoc and questioning loyalties. When her location was made known to him, he hadn't hesitated a second. His team more skilled than his enemies, his methods more effective. _As far as you think I'm willing to go to protect that which I hold most dear, you can't possibly fathom how deep that well of mine truly goes._ And then suddenly, finally, merely a door separating them. His breathing unstable, his composure faltering. One pointed shot to break the lock, his heart racing, his mind bracing itself for whatever awaits him.

When he had laid eyes on her body, the pain in his chest had become unbearable.

* * *

He can feel her hand grasping his shirt tightly, unwilling to let him leave, and he only breaks the contact for a few seconds, positions her in the backseat, slowly and gingerly, doesn't know if there are injuries he hasn't yet discovered. He sits next to her silently, still can't manage to say what he wants to, _I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner, I'm sorry I failed you, forgive me,_ and she's struggling to stay awake, her debility too severe.

"It's okay, Lizzie. It's all over now," he tells her. "Go to sleep."

"Will you be there when I wake up?"

"Yes, Lizzie."

She closes her eyes and sinks down against him.

"I promise."


	2. Solace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kudos and comments mean the world. Enjoy chapter 2!

The car ride calms him, the streets ahead deserted and nighttime surrounding them.

Her head is resting on his shoulder now, a change from her earlier position, and he hopes she is comfortable, sleeping soundly and dreaming of happier things or of nothing at all. He wants to take her hand, just something to ground him, but he's afraid of waking her and remains still instead, listens to her breathing, closes his eyes to fully focus.

She's alive, she's alive, she's _alive._

It's how he survives, with the image of her inside his head. In times of need, in times of solitude.

He thinks about the time she called him in the middle of the night. A spontaneous decision on her end and a conversation ultimately going nowhere, no blacklister, no intel, _are you okay_ and _I'm not sure why I called_ , she had sounded oddly shy, embarrassed even, and he wished he could see her face to gauge her emotions. He had teased her, an attempt to lighten the mood, asked if she had been missing him, if life was too dull without him. He could feel her hesitation, held his breath until her response. _Yes._

He thinks about the time they went out for dinner. Another arduous case waiting to be solved and not even a lead, her desk covered in files and the atmosphere agitated, _I can't take a break_ and _you should eat_ , he had finally convinced her that she needed to focus on something else for a bit, clear her head. He had picked the restaurant, had led her to a quiet booth that would grant them some privacy, had watched her break down right in front of him, stressed and exhausted and _I don't know what to do, Red_. When he had eventually dropped her off at her house, all comforting words and reassuring touches, she had kissed him on the cheek before saying goodbye. _Thank you._

He thinks about the time she saved his life _._ On the run and partners, fugitives from whatever fate had in store for them, chased by people who just didn't understand, _how will this end_ and _you will get through this_ , he had been in control of every threat and this wasn't his first time, either, he had been running for most of his life. Just a moment of negligence and someone with a gun, her voice calling for him, _Red_ , he had barely turned around in time to hear the gunshot, a lifeless body sinking to the ground behind him and the sudden realization that she would kill for him, too. She had grabbed his arm and pulled him into an alley, away from death to momentary shelter, had inspected his side to make sure he wasn't hit. With a final nod she had fixed his jacket, smoothened the lapels to avoid his gaze. A bashful smile and _you need to be more careful, okay._

He tilts his head and leans to the side then, her hair soft against his cheek as her fingers begin to move, seeking and longing, as they find his hand in the dark, as he loses himself in a memory of two broken souls seated on a bench, the world closing in around them, and he can feel her pulse now, his only salvation, her skin warm against his.

He'll bring her somewhere safe, a place where none of this will matter, far away from the perils that have damaged them.

_I never wanted you to be-_

He won't fail her again.

_Like me._

* * *

He doesn't check the time when the car pulls up the driveway. He can hear the ocean in the distance, _yes_ , he thinks, _this will do_ , a refuge for the two of them, his most valuable estate for quite simple reasons. It's where he can be himself, disregard the persona he has so carefully crafted, a place that has proven cathartic in times of challenge and turmoil.

She doesn't move as the car door opens, doesn't even flinch as he gently touches her arm. _Lizzie_ , he says, _we're here_ , but nothing, and he lets her be, picks her up instead like he had done mere hours ago, her face in his neck and _hold on, Lizzie, just hold on_ , and she's slowly waking now, too, her body beginning to shake from the cold, the shock, the pain, and he's holding her tighter, his lips near her ear, whispers of consolation, _only_ _focus on my voice and nothing else_ , the last steps until he reaches the guest room, _it's alright,_ until he carefully puts her down on the bed, _it will all be alright._ He dims the light on the nightstand, doesn't want her to wince at the sudden brightness. She looks too small, too fragile, and he knows he has to be practical, check for injuries, keep her warm, let her rest. He hopes she will let him, that she trusts him enough to accompany her.

She's barely awake, looks back at him through hazy eyes as he calmly asks her if she's hurt, if there are wounds that require attention. She shakes her head and relief floods through him, and then he sees her lips move, _I'm so tired, Red_ , he hears her say as he sits down on the edge of the bed, _I know, Lizzie_ , his hand covering hers, _I know._ He wants her to be comfortable, excuses himself briefly to prepare the bathroom for her, find something for her to wear, _take your time_ and _I'll be right outside if you need anything_.

When she steps out of the shower, it's his bathrobe she picks over the neatly folded stack of clothing next to the sink.

When she opens the door and finds him waiting for her, she comes undone.

He catches her, holds her to him with all the strength he can muster, his fingers tracing patterns up her back while her tears soak through his shirt, her suffering evident on his skin now and burning and burning and _burning_ , he wants to help her so desperately. His presence, the one thing he can provide, and a promise.

_We can do this, you and I._


	3. A New Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay. Thank you all for reading! Enjoy!

There was something spellbinding about the way she slept. Her body hidden deep beneath the covers, a protective cloak, the sheets rising ever so steadily. Up and down, up and down. And finally her face. Not haunted or anguished, but soft and serene, so very different from his own, the nightmares not nearly as evident.

He had been watching over her all night from a chair next to her bed, had reached out occasionally to remind her subconscious that he was still here. To brush her hair from her face, to hold her hand when it found its way to the outside world from under the blankets. His back had been hurting for hours, it wasn't the most comfortable of positions really, but getting up might have startled her and he wasn't going to take that risk.

He's tired but he can function without sleep. Has had his share of practice.

He wonders if things would ever be alright again. If they could make it to a point in time where they weren't hurting or silently suffering. If they could heal each other the way they needed, not completely but just well enough, with scars still visible but no longer burning. A life less dangerous and full of promise.

He wonders if she ever thinks about the future, and if he's a part of it.

He wonders how she will look at him when she wakes up, and if she'll pull away her hand then.

He wonders if she'll stay.

* * *

It takes her a moment to realize where she is, takes her a moment to remember the events of last night. There's a fraction of light breaking through the thick curtains, just enough to illuminate the room. She doesn't know what time it is, doesn't really care.

He's the second thing she focuses on after a quick assessment of her surroundings. His eyes are closed and he's resting his head on his balled fist, his elbow propped up on the arm of the chair. His neck will kill him when he wakes, she thinks, and she feels bad for inadvertently making him sleep like this. She knows he would never have left her, not after her breakdown, not ever. He looks different like this, almost small compared to the usual persona she's used to, vulnerable in a way it makes her heart ache.

She notices how her hand seems warm, how he must have been clutching it during the night, how he still hasn't let go. She tries not to move it, savors his touch like a precious memory, like something grounding her when darkness is trying to pull her away. She feels fine, strangely enough, and maybe that's the shock or maybe that's the trauma or maybe it's the certainty that it's all over and that she's safe now, and that maybe, just maybe, things will be okay. That she'll smile again and that she can ridicule him for his outrageous stories. That they can work through this together, openly and truthfully, the way they had ended things before she was taken. That maybe, when the time is right, she can kiss him again. For better reasons. Not out of solace. But out of love.

He wakes then, somewhat lost and confused, fixes his posture and holds a hand to the back of his neck, she almost laughs because it's just what she predicted, and then he looks at her with all the concern in the world, _Lizzie_ , and it's so gentle, _are you okay_ , and she nods.

"I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep."

"I'm fine, Red." A brief pause, just enough to let him fully gain consciousness. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Saving me. Over and over again."

"Lizzie, I-"

"I think when someone does something nice for you, you're supposed to say thank you. So thank you, Red."

He's missed her so much.

"You're welcome."

He hesitates a moment as she stares back at him. Finally regains his courage.

"Would you care to join me for late breakfast and a walk on the beach?"

* * *

She's wearing his scarf and one of his coats, her fingertips tracing its woolen patterns. _The wind is quite relentless out there_ , he had told her, _this should keep you warm_ , and then he had wrapped his jacket around her, had buttoned it up and adjusted it, and it rests heavily on her shoulders now, shields her from the cold, and she might just keep it if he doesn't explicitly ask for it later. He silently walks alongside her, barefooted in the fine white sand, a sight she still marvels at. He had taken off his shoes and socks earlier, had methodically rolled up his pants, a raised eyebrow the only response to her questioning gaze. _Sand ruins the fabric_ , he had told her, and the seriousness in his voice had finally done it, the sound of her laughter and _you're ridiculous, Red_.

It's a picturesque afternoon, the seaside deserted except for the two of them. Sometimes she watches him surreptitiously from the corner of her eyes, sometimes she quite openly observes his profile, but he seems focused on the horizon and she wonders what he's thinking, if he feels sorry for her, if he scolds himself. They'll talk eventually, but she knows she'll have to make the first step. She should ask him where they are, if he has a plan, if there's a protocol, but she doesn't want to face any of it, she wants whatever they're sharing now, she wants him making her breakfast again and another day in his coat and another night of safety.

She tries to fight it, but her bones grow more tired with every step now, her body still exhausted, and she grabs his arm for support and there it is again, that worried expression, _are you alright_ and _let's turn around,_ but she shakes her head and holds on to him.

"Just a bit longer," she says. "I like it out here."

* * *

When they arrive back at the house, he takes the coat from her shoulders and puts it in her room.

"In case you need it for another walk," he tells her sweetly, and she wishes she was brave enough to simply pull him towards her and hug him.

Still standing in the hallway, she's unsure suddenly, has a hard time of reading him.

"Red?"

She watches him turn towards her.

"How long can I stay here?"

She looks so heartbreakingly fragile to him in the dim evening light.

"As long as you like, Lizzie. Stay as long as you like."

He kisses her hair as he moves past her towards the kitchen, doesn't notice how her eyes close at the contact.

"Come on. Join me for dinner."


	4. Would You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments! Enjoy the new chapter :)

They spend the evening seated across from each other in an oddly domestic setting, dinner prepared and served by him, the table set by her, engaged in light conversations and their informal demeanor. The tension she had perceived earlier is gone; instead, he entertains her with amusing stories and exaggerated hand gestures, it's a charming sight to see really, the theatrics of it, his insistence to distract her, to make her smile.

It's late when his expression suddenly changes to something else, when a certain melancholia settles around them. She can't quite detect what triggers it but knows him too well not to notice, how everything seems to stand still now, how she can almost hear his thoughts. She wonders if he'll reveal what's on his mind, if things have changed enough for them to be open with each other. They could be so good together.

She follows his hand as it reaches out to her, his palm warm against her wrist and his tone achingly gentle.

"Lizzie, I want you to know that you can always talk to me. About anything. If or when you feel comfortable enough to discuss what occurred, I will be here to listen. If you need more time, no matter how long, I will be here as well. Please don't ever think you can't share these things with me. Don't ever think that I won't do anything in my power to help you get through this."

His voice lowers before he utters his final vow.

"You have me, Lizzie. I promise."

* * *

Of course. Of course she has him.

It's like a subconscious fact she's always trusted, a talisman she carries with her, the single truth she relies on. To find it so tangible in front of her now, to listen to his admission, to be able to have him near, well, it's something extraordinary. It's something remarkable.

She's not quite there yet but will be soon, she hopes, because she does want to tell him, wants to hear the words leave her body and with them the agony that's hidden somewhere, maybe some kind of closure and a new beginning. But that's later. For now, for this instant, she just wants _him._

„Red?"

He turns his head towards her and it takes her a moment to gather just enough courage to look back at him. His eyes are wide open, urging her to continue her inquiry.

„Do you remember when I kissed you?"

She's almost there, waits for some kind of response first and sees him nod. Slowly, heavily, his features so different all of a sudden, a poignancy rising to the surface.

Another hesitant pause.

„Would you be willing to…"

But she doesn't finish. Just shakes her head and banishes the idea.

"Nevermind."

* * *

She is wrong, he thinks. She has gotten it all terribly wrong.

He doesn't merely _remember_ the time she kissed him. It's his most treasured memory, the image he conjures up at will when the world darkens around him, when he misses her so much he can't stand it, when the days are too long and the nights too painful, when he had searched for her, every detail locked away in his mind, seconds that helped him survive, that one moment that had made it all worth it, that rendered any bullet powerless. He couldn't have died that day, not with her lips against his and all injuries forgotten.

And now her incomplete request lingers between them and he's left speechless for reasons that could be so easily misunderstood. It's the phrasing he is focused on, _would you be willing_ , as if this might be an obligation to him, an assignment that required his attention, not something he craved so desperately. As if kissing her again wasn't everything he wanted.

It's the easiest decision he ever had to make.

_Yes_. Now and always.

As he gets up to approach her, she seems uncertain, watches his steps with a nervous gaze, doesn't quite know what he's going to do.

He stops right in front of her, holds out his hand for her to take and helps her stand up, his body so very close and her heart positively fluttering, beating and beating and _beating_ , such a striking contrast to the man in front of him, calm and quiet and determined.

"Lizzie," he whispers. "Close your eyes."

His warmth is palpable as her surroundings disappear, and her breathing is heavier now, becomes uneven as his fingers move up her arms and finally rest just below her neck, his right thumb tracing her cheekbone and her wounds mending with every passing second, it could last forever, she thinks, this burning sensation.

He takes his time to discover, would look at her for hours if given the choice, just wants her to feel safe. It's his turn now to be honest, his turn to move past reservations and doubts. He owes her that much, not pity, not solace, but a way forward, if just for another day, another week, whatever she needs.

He kisses her then. And it's nothing like the first time.

It's still and private and sweet, not so much pleading but comforting, soft and gentle, it's _them,_ no mission, no gear, no life-threatening damages, none of that. It's them in a house by the beach, it's a knit sweater against a dress shirt, an intimate sigh and empty plates abandoned on the kitchen table, it's a remedy for her trauma, it's a remedy for his, it's pulling and tugging to be _just a bit_ closer, and so very slow.

When he pulls away, her eyes remain closed.

"Lizzie, look at me," he says.

Her pulse is still racing when she finally concedes. When he leans in and whispers.

"You'll never have to ask."

His lips near her ear and the words so beautifully sincere.

"The answer will always be _yes_."


	5. It Was You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently there was an episode last week which I will happily ignore for now. Especially certain words that were spoken and that I don't believe for a second. But anyways. 
> 
> I'm sorry it took me this long to update but I received some very nice comments and encouragement so here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy. And I promise the next update won't take this long.

She hadn't been prepared. She couldn't have been.

There's the surprise, the shock, the astonishment. There are the unspoken secrets and the warmth that has settled in the small space between them. There's the fact that he still hasn't completely broken contact, that his thumb is tracing the lines in her palm, that his cheek remains pressed against her hair.

_You never have to ask._

A fistful of his shirt is gathered in her hand, it had been an impulse to grasp it, something to steady her, and now she feels her grip loosen, feels the fabric run through her fingers as he finally steps past her. She can hear him move toward the kitchen, can hear him stack the plates, and she's still holding her breath, still processing.

There's a taste on her lips that may never leave her. There's a realization that things will never be the same. There's the truth that kept her alive.

When he turns around and calls for her a moment later, she's gone.

* * *

She doesn't sleep.

Her room is drenched in darkness, the curtains shut tight, the world around her silent. There's a cornucopia of images rushing through her head, an entire history unraveling before her eyes, a tale of forgiveness and trust and love. She can see him clearly, his intimidating gaze and _what a pleasure_ , his admiration for a red dress, the agonizing pain and _I don't expect you to understand_ , a criminal on his knees and a gun in her hand. The weeks of suspicion, a game they've both played to perfection, _you should have come to me_ and his arms around her, surrender and comfort, the imaginary lines blurred beyond recognition. A fateful choice and one fugitive saving the other, the stars bright above them and _when I look at you,_ a never-ending escape, running and running and running. Until she was safe. Until she could meet him one night across the street and hold on to him. Until her life could start again.

Until the next mission.

She wonders if he's awake, if he replays the events of the evening in his mind like she does. If he worries that he's done something wrong, finding the kitchen empty all of a sudden without an explanation, if he feels embarrassed, wistful, disappointed.

She misses him even now, separated merely by a hallway, the memory of their kiss so vivid and the conclusion undeniable. He loves her. And she's not scared anymore.

She thinks she's ready to tell him. She thinks he deserves to know.

* * *

She knocks three times and a moment passes before she hears him respond, before she slowly turns the knob. She can make out his silhouette in the dark as he sits up and leans against the headboard, the soft glow of the moon painting patterns across his face, and he looks taken aback, concern quickly spreading.

"Lizzie, what's wrong? Are you alright?"

She nods even though it's not the whole truth, her mind is racing and she isn't quite sure what she's doing, watches him move to the side of the bed, watches him make the decision for her. She hears the door shut as she steps closer, her body exhausted suddenly and her movements becoming more painful. She forgets sometimes that she still needs to rest, that she needs to allow herself to heal, that recoveries take time.

His features come into focus as she lies down next to him, and he pulls the blanket over her shoulder, lightly keeps his arm around her and waits for a reaction. He figures she'll explain whenever she's ready, or maybe there won't be any conversation at all, maybe she just needed his company and that's okay, too. That's perfect.

She's staring at him, focuses on his breathing pattern and how it matches her own, his thumb drawing lazy circles on her back, another, then another, maybe she could find some sleep after all if he'd just continue the motion, it seems so easy now to forget everything, seems so easy to forget why she's here. But she doesn't want to wait any longer, doesn't want to spend another night wondering, and she owes him this much, the words heavy on her tongue.

"It was you," she says quietly. Shifts closer to avoid his gaze, her eyes fixed on his neck and a small, round scar. Her voice strangely fragile. "It was the image of you that helped me survive. As lonely as I was, as scared as I felt, I never doubted that you would eventually find me."

She stops then, lets him fill in the blanks, lets him come to his own conclusion.

It's really quite simple.

She loves him, too.

* * *

It's his expression that gives him away. The sparks of wonder and disbelief blending almost seamlessly.

She knows he won't easily accept it but it's true nonetheless. They've saved each other somewhere along the way, through tragedy and heartbreak, and when his fingertips ghost down her side she can feel a current pulsate deep within, and when his hand reaches hers, when he pulls it up from underneath the sheets and presses a kiss to the back of it, she leans forward to rest her head against his shoulder, her eyes closed and the pain gone.

"Lizzie," he whispers, turns just the slightest bit so he can look at her, and she thinks this is enough, the way he speaks her name, his heartbeat against hers, this is everything. She can feel herself drift off, can feel the tension leave her body as his arm tightens around her, and she knows he understands now. She can feel that, too.

He holds her to him, senses her breathing even out until she's fast asleep. He thinks about life in the morning, about waking up next to her, about her being the first thing he'll see. A new day and a new beginning, he can hardly wait, wants to talk openly about the future and their plans, wants to spend more time with her, the circumstances so different now.

He kisses her temple and lets his exhaustion take over.

For the first time in forever, he feels happy.


	6. What Would You Like To Know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really sorry for the delay on this. I didn't know how to finish this fic for the longest time but I finally managed. Hopefully, it doesn't disappoint. 
> 
> Thank you all for your comments and kudos. Enjoy this final chapter!

"Good morning."

"Morning."

"How are you feeling, Lizzie?"

"Better. Much better." Rested, recovered, healed. "How long have you been awake?"

"A while."

"Watching me?" she teases.

"Keeping you safe," he corrects.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She realizes his arm is still around her. She wonders if they could stay like this for hours.

"What would you like to do today?" he asks, runs his fingertips down her spine.

Well.

There are conversations they need to have, questions that need to be discussed, she can't run away from reality forever, she has a job and obligations after all, colleagues that depend on her, more cases to solve, but for now, for maybe just one more day, she would like to forget about life beyond this, let the wounds mend and focus on the happiness that settles somewhere deep inside whenever he's around.

"Remember that french toast you made yesterday?" she inquires innocently.

"Yes."

"How about we start with that?"

* * *

She thinks she'll never tire of watching him cook, the precision and skill with which he approaches everything in life so evident, his demeanor so calm and focused. They're as delicious as ever, his culinary endeavors, and perhaps he could teach her a thing or two sometime, at her house even, a dinner date of sorts. Or he could spend the night and they could share breakfast just like this, with him reading her news articles that might be of interest, and her watching him over the rim of her mug.

It feels so normal now, so ordinary, this domestic routine. It feels wonderful. Sometimes she forgets that it's only been a few days since her rescue because so much has changed and because he is studying the paper across from her and because they're finally being honest with each other and because, _because_ she will fall asleep next to him again tonight and wake up next to him tomorrow. The little things she treasures. The years it took them to get here.

He gets up then to pour her another cup of coffee, moves to the seat beside her and tucks a few loose strands behind her ear.

"How would you feel about another walk? My grandmother always told me that a fresh sea breeze could heal just about anything."

She offers him a quick smile and nods, closes her eyes when he kisses her cheek and gets up.

"I'll go get your coat."

* * *

It's really _his_ coat he is retrieving from her room, just as he had promised the evening before, _in case you need it again,_ and she does, of course, needs the warmth and the comfort it grants her, and he seems perfectly fine with his loss. He takes her arm and leads her outside, doesn't let go once their feet touch the sand, and she notices these gestures even more now, notices just how gently his hand guides her over the unsteady ground.

It's so similar to their first walk together, his pants once again rolled up, her teasing remarks a bit more daring, but she doesn't focus on the injuries anymore, on the trauma. On the uncertainties.

She focuses on the fact that he turns up her collar to shield her from the wind, that his fingers brush against hers every so often until he finally intertwines them, that he watches her from the side much like she had done with him, how he doesn't look away when she returns his gaze.

She focuses on the fact that every step comes easier, that they're not saying a word, that all the small sensations she feels when his thumb ghosts across the back of her hand are enough, that she really doesn't need anything else.

She focuses on the fact that the fear is gone.

* * *

"I talked to Cooper."

It's early in the evening and they've made themselves comfortable on the couch, her body leaning against his side, a blanket covering her legs.

"You what?" She had been avoiding the topic, hadn't asked any questions. She wonders why he broaches the subject now.

"I know you've been worrying about your job, Lizzie. I simply meant to assure you that there's no need. I talked to Cooper, I explained the situation. We both agree that you need time to recover after everything you've been through."

She should have known. She should have known he would take care of this, too, take another burden off her shoulders, allow her to stay with him a bit longer. _As long as you like._

She kisses him because she's grateful, because his priorities are so very clear, because she can. It's the third kiss they share, the circumstances so different each time, and she thinks there's something very special about this one, not a request or desperate impulse but something familiar, something that makes perfect sense. Sweet affirmation.

"Thank you," she says as she pulls away, flinches suddenly as a stinging pain runs through her neck.

"What is it?"

"It's nothing, just-"

She knows he won't believe her, can see the concern flash across his features.

"Turn around, Lizzie." His voice is calm but determined, and she does as he tells her, shifts so her back is turned towards him.

Carefully and slowly, he glides his fingers across her skin, traces lines along her upper back and applies pressure just in the right spots. She can feel her muscles relax almost immediately, can feel her eyes close on their own accord, and she wonders where he learned a technique like this, if there's anything he can't do.

"Is this okay?" he asks and she simply nods, can't even begin to explain just how _okay_ it is.

When he stops after a few minutes, she can't help but smile at him triumphantly.

"That was a terrible mistake, Red."

"And why is that?"

"Because I can already predict that my neck will hurt constantly in the future."

He thinks he hasn't seen her laugh like this in a long time.

He thinks it's a beautiful thing.

* * *

It's late when they move to his bedroom.

There's a moment of hesitation when she follows him down the hall, a moment in which she realizes they haven't talked about last night, in which she feels insecure suddenly, but he waits for her by the doorframe, lets her know there's no reason to worry. He won't let her be alone.

She is resting her head on his pillow, likes to be this close to him, to face him.

"Red?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me about yourself."

It's an odd request to make, perhaps, almost an hour past midnight, but she can't seem to fall asleep, can't seem to wait to find out more about him, and his voice remains her favorite sound.

"What would you like to know?"

She'll start with the small things. The early things.

"What was your favorite book as a child?"

She hears his soft chuckle in the dark, watches him look up at the ceiling and gather his thoughts.

"Well, there were two, actually," he begins.

He'll finally share it now, the rest of his story.

She can't wait to hear it.


End file.
